


The Songbird Ascendant

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Advent Fics 2015 [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birds, Eggs, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Veela, Veela Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:52:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco are raising their egg. Sequel to Nature of the Beast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> An Advent fic for your_huckleberry, who asked for: _A sequel to Nature of the Beast. Draco and Harry create an egg and just like you described in the story they cast spells and make their wishes. Draco sneaks in to cuddle the egg but so does Harry. I want to read them watching it hatch and so on. Please no watersports or rimming, ect. Of course a happy ending_. This is a two-shot, with the other part to be posted tomorrow.

“Damn.  _Damn_.”  
  
Draco gave a lazy smile and reached down to trail his fingers through Harry’s hair. He had to concentrate to let the magic simmering beneath his skin stay in place instead of pouring out, as it ordinarily would have done, to make Harry feel good. His wings beat softly above him. When he closed his eyes, he could use that beat to ground himself.  
  
But when he opened his eyes, Harry’s passion-filled face dominated his vision.  
  
“Remember,” he whispered, “the sex is to raise energy.”  
  
“I—know that.” Harry strained against Draco’s hold for a second, the hand on his chest, then panted and settled back. Draco reared back himself and let his wings spread and droop until they touched the sides of the bed.  
  
He turned to study the hollowed-out stone, huge and blue-green, that rested in a prepared circle of salt and silver to their right. The salt and silver itself was scattered on a huge, movable platform. Draco wanted to raise the power for the egg in their bedroom because it was most comfortable, but after that, they would move the new shell to the warmest room in the house.  
  
“Good,” Draco said, and began to rock inside Harry. Harry followed, his hips trembling in tiny motions that made Draco’s breath come in hot little huffs. He tried to remind himself, again, where the energy would go.   
  
They probably wouldn’t even have to have sex more than once to fill the shell with magic, because Harry was so powerful.   
  
_Too bad,_ Draco thought, and began to sing softly. He thrust softly, rocking on his knees this time, and Harry smiled up at him and reached out to clasp the hand Draco had resting on his chest.  
  
“I trust you to channel the magic,” he whispered, and nodded to Draco’s wings.  
  
Draco nodded back. If he had arranged his wings in the right shape, then the power should wash down them and towards the sides of the bed, where the eggshell, prepared with careful spells, would attract it.  
  
If it didn’t work, they would have to have sex again and raise the power. Draco didn’t mind that. What he minded was not being able to make his bondmate feel as good as he normally would.  
  
_I trust you. And it’s only one time._  
  
Draco gasped and tilted his head back, then began to thrust in the pattern they’d agreed on. Three, then seven, three, then seven, both powerfully magical numbers. Harry was sighing beneath him, lying still as they’d also agreed on. Thrusting back would ruin the count and might seem to be separate thrusts to the magic that they were collecting between them.  
  
Draco felt as if he were filling, slowly, with hot water. It was a relaxing feeling and a suffocating one at the same time, like being in a bath that might rise too high and drown you.  
  
_It won’t, because you’ll channel it the right way in time,_ Harry told him through the bond, and then sent Draco a blast of magic so powerful that Draco nearly lost count of his thrusts. He rolled his hips in punishment, not part of the rhythm, and Harry glared at him.  
  
_That rhythm was done with anyway,_ Draco told him sweetly, and then he reached out and gathered up the magic. It was hovering, trembling and invisible, on the tips of his wings. He had to send it to the shell.  
  
Not spread it over his bondmate’s skin. Not use it to make Harry’s mouth widen and his eyes shine and haze with passion. Not—  
  
_Draco!_  
  
Draco ducked his head and raised the power higher, higher. He could feel a soft vibration in the circle around the eggshell answering the vibration of his wings and even of his hips.  
  
Higher, higher, higher.  
  
And then Harry pushed it from beneath one more time, exactly as he was supposed to.  
  
Draco turned and flung it, even as he thrust hard ahead at the same time and exerted control over his own body. As the tumbling ball of invisible, weightless hot water settled into the shell, he orgasmed, and Harry followed him, pulled along by feeling his pleasure through the bond rather than through Veela magic.  
  
Draco took a moment to bathe in the white light soaking down the inside of his eyelids, and then turned and stared at the eggshell.   
  
It was radiant with the same white light, which swayed back and forth like water carried in an almost full basin by someone with bad balance. Draco found himself smiling as he watched the milky shine. That was the magic that was going to become their child.  
  
As soon as he and Harry were recovered enough to cast the right spells, anyway.  
  
*  
  
Harry leaned back and tried to relax his breathing. He knew he had to get these spells right. There was so much power filling the egg that it could cause a problem if he and Draco didn’t both cast at the same time.  
  
And Harry had to think about what he honestly wished for in a child.   
  
He hadn’t thought of children much at all when he and Draco were first bonded, honestly. He had put them off as a “someday.” It would be a good someday, but he had so much that he wanted to do first.  
  
And, of course, when they were first bonded, he hadn’t been sure that he wanted to stay with Draco at all, much less wanted children with him.  
  
But now Harry had a few years of experience in politics, and he didn’t feel as though the wizarding world would explode in war if he took a moment of time for himself or raised his children instead of tending to peace each and every day. He had few personal enemies he hadn’t at least converted into political acquaintances. And he and Draco had cooperated to raise the protections around the Manor to such heights that Harry no longer thought someone could easily break in and harm his children.  
  
He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift for a moment, thinking of his deepest desires, as Draco had said he should—or trying to think of them. Honestly, it was a little hard, even when he relaxed his mind and his breathing the way Draco said he should. He found himself thinking of the past, of their bond.  
  
_Well, is there anything wrong with that? What’s your deepest desire when it comes to the past and the bond?_  
  
That the past stay the past. That the present be more peaceful. That the bond continue to grow and flourish.  
  
That they have healthy children with no enemies. That they have children with magic, because Harry would enjoy teaching them and he had seen how Squibs were treated in the wizarding world. That they have children who would be able to laugh a lot and who would love both him and Draco equally, and whom they could love equally.  
  
_I couldn’t stand it if it turned out that I was favoring one of my children over the others the way Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon used to favor Dudley._  
  
The thoughts went through his mind, faster and faster, unreeling like a great banner, draped over the edge of his thoughts and wound into the magic that Harry could sense from the egg. He wanted children who could be happy. He wanted children whom Draco would love, too. He wanted children who would be free and strong. He wanted children who would never know hunger or want.  
  
There was a soft explosion in front of him, and the sound of the eggshell rocking on its base, as if it was being stirred.  
  
Harry found himself on his knees without knowing how he’d got there, chanting the last syllables of a spell he hadn’t been aware of beginning, hearing Draco’s voice fade into silence at the same moment. He opened his eyes and turned his head.  
  
There  _was_ a banner draped over the edge of the eggshell, or so he thought for a moment, a torrent of color—red and blue and gold—flowing from him and into the white magic of the eggshell. Harry stared. It looked nothing like he had imagined. There was another banner coming from Draco, silver and green and purple, and it coiled around itself and tipped straight into the magic.  
  
There was another soft explosion, and the light flew up like flames from the shell and then contracted around it, moving inwards like a bird scooping up the ground to make a nest.  _Well, appropriate_ , Harry thought, dazed, shaking his head a little.  _We are making an egg._  
  
And that was what sat there when the light faded into the shell, a huge egg, blue-green like the stone they’d chosen. Harry smiled. Draco had been sure the egg would be white, because that was the color of the light that he thought would fill it—and the color of his wings, and the color of semen, which he seemed embarrassed about when Harry first pointed out. But then he had said it was an even stronger argument for the white shell he was predicting.  
  
“What did you wish for?”  
  
Harry lifted his head to see Draco over the shell. Even that took a lot of energy, he thought, as he felt the soft surge in the back of his neck that said the muscles there were contracting only with pain.  
  
“For our children to be happy,” he said. “And all the things I thought would make them happy and loved.”  
  
Draco blinked. “That’s not the way it works. You’re supposed to wish for children who look a certain way. Or a boy and a girl. Or for them to have magical talents. I would like a child who had your Parselmouth abilities.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Maybe we’ll have one. You told me once that someone whose desires were stronger would win out, and I didn’t have any particular desire for them to have those magical talents. So you’ll probably get what you want.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Draco frowned harder. Harry grinned at him and forced himself up with one hand on the shell of the egg. It was shining and beautiful, but also cool. “We should move this into that sitting room and start the Warming Charms,” he murmured vaguely.  
  
Draco’s eyes widened. “Of  _course_ we should!” He snapped his fingers, and house-elves appeared. “Move the egg.  _Carefully_ ,” Draco said, with a blast of his wings that made them cower. “I hope I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you don’t.”  
  
Harry nodded. He knew Draco was only letting the elves move it in the first place because they didn’t have enough power between them to light a match right now.  
  
As the elves squeaked and bowed and began slowly to transfer the platform, Harry grinned and looked at Draco. Draco’s face had eased from its fierce protectiveness as the platform rose safely a few centimeters in the air, and he was grinning back now.  
  
“That’s going to be our  _child_ ,” Draco said. He sounded silly.  
  
“Yeah.”  _Although I sound the same._  
  
When they could, Harry and Draco stood and followed the egg out the door. So what if they had to lean against each other and Draco kept one wing around Harry to support him? They were following their egg.


	2. Part Two

Draco opened the door of the sitting room. Then he paused. He wondered for a second what would happen if Harry found out about this. He would probably tease Draco for  _days,_  and say that it was exactly as he had predicted.  
  
He’d known that Veela sneaked in to cuddle their eggs to their chests without ever being told about it, after all. And in the time when his bond with Draco was still not functioning right.  
  
But even when Draco thought about Harry gloating, it wasn’t enough incentive to leave their egg alone. He stretched a simple Tripping Charm across the door to warn him if someone entered—the house-elves wouldn’t be bothered by it—and came slowly forwards.  
  
The egg still sat on the raised platform they’d built, made of simple brown wood, with the circle of salt and silver around it. Draco had chosen the wood of the platform to set off the equally simple white color he had assumed the shell would be. It was still somewhat of a disappointment that the egg had turned out blue-green instead, like the stone they’d chosen to hollow out.  
  
But when he looked at it and felt his bond and his instincts welling to life in his head, Draco couldn’t find any reason to despise their egg.  _They_ had made it. He and Harry. Them. And they had both made their wishes and cast their spells.  
  
Draco had wondered, when he first became a Veela, what he would feel like when he had an egg. Then he had realized Harry Potter was his mate, and he had wondered whether their children would all turn out to be short-sighted Gryffindors, because that was the kind of thing Potter would wish, specifically to spite  _him_.  
  
Then he had come to know Harry, and he didn’t know. He had no idea what their child would grow up to be, because even when he was in the bond with Harry, he had no idea whose desires were stronger.  
  
And the wish magic, Draco thought as he smoothed a hand down the side of the egg, drew on unconscious desires as much as conscious ones. Draco might think he had sincerely wished for something that never got into egg at all, simply because wishes he didn’t know about were so much stronger.  
  
Shivering with the mystery, Draco picked up the egg. It was large enough that his arms strained to fit around it, but at the same time, it was only about as heavy as an ordinary baby would be. Draco smiled. Their magic  _had_ transformed the egg, then. It was no longer simply stone full of liquid magic.  
  
It had become something more.  
  
The Warming Charms he and Harry had placed around the egg with tender care shrilled a little as Draco moved the egg. Draco lowered them with a flick of his wand. They surrounded the egg as a specialized shield that would generate more heat and curl around and over the egg like a brooding bird’s breast. But with that special shape came the ability to lower and raise them, both, so that Harry and Draco could pick up the egg without having to recast them.  
  
Harry had smiled at Draco when he saw that Draco wanted to cast them that way. No, not just smiled,  _grinned_ , shaking his head as he muttered something about broody Veela.  
  
The moment Draco felt the silky-warm shell touch his chest, though, he no longer cared about that. Nothing mattered but bending his wings around the egg, and giving all the body warmth he had to it. He’d already taken off his shirt. He rarely wore them around the house, anyway. Since Harry had accepted their bond, Draco had found it easier to go shirtless than to keep modifying his clothes to fit his wings.  
  
The egg seemed to beam back its own warmth to him. Draco sang softly. The croon-like note had always been in his voice for his mate, but it came out as song much more often, now, the endless liquid run of a nightingale.  
  
He lost track of time as he stood there. The egg didn’t weigh his arms down. The room was as hot as the inside of a star around him. Warm with love and singing, he balanced the egg in his arms and bowed his head to nuzzle it.  
  
“I  _knew_ it!”  
  
Draco tightened his arms around the egg so he wouldn’t drop it—that would be unthinkable—and turned around to give Harry a deadly glare. Harry only grinned back at him, not bothered at all, and wagged his finger at Draco.  
  
“I knew you would come in and cuddle it.” Harry folded his arms and clucked his tongue. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Even though the egg is perfectly safe and warm in its circle.”  
  
Draco was about to answer when something occurred to him. He had felt a very faint snapping as his Tripping Charm was activated, but he hadn’t paid any attention to that tug on his magic, because holding the egg was so much more important. He looked over, just to make sure, and yes, the glow of his charm was gone.  
  
That meant Harry had fallen over it as he came in. That meant he hadn’t  _removed_ it, the way he would have done if he was sneaking in to catch Draco. When Draco turned back to Harry, in fact, he could see the faint bruise on his forehead.  
  
“Why did you come in here?” Draco asked. “You couldn’t have known I was in here if you didn’t sneak in.”   
  
It was hard to tell when the fire in the hearth was so high, but Harry was flushing. Draco touched the bond lightly and knew.  
  
 _You came in here to cuddle the egg, too! I know you did!_  Draco crowed in the back of Harry’s head.  
  
Harry tried to deny it, but Draco was too much in tune with him right now. He knew that for the lie it was. He rocked his head back and laughed, while Harry shuffled from foot to foot and frowned at him.  
  
“So what if I did?” Harry finally asked, and shook his head a little when Draco raised an incredulous eyebrow. “It doesn’t mean—”  
  
“It means you’re a hypocrite, is what it means.” Draco held the egg closer. “You made fun of me for wanting to cuddle it, but you were going to do the same. What’s the matter, don’t trust the fire and the magic to do their work?”  
  
“Draco, you’re going to  _drop_ it.”  
  
Draco flapped his wings at him, said, “Blow it out your ear,” and put the egg down carefully on its platform again. Then he turned and held out a hand to Harry. Harry came over slowly, watching Draco with one careful eye as if he assumed Draco would start making fun of him again at any moment.  
  
“If you come here,” Draco said, and placed Harry’s hands on the egg before he could pull back and pretend that he hadn’t wanted to put them there, “then we can hold it together.” Then he put his hands over Harry’s and moved carefully behind him, draping his wings over both Harry and the egg.  
  
He could feel Harry’s immediate relaxation down the bond, the way he almost melted back—and not just from the heat of the fire or the heat that rose from the egg when they were both cradling it. Harry was gazing mistily at the egg and visualizing their child coming from it, the same way Draco had.  
  
 _I don’t understand why you think cuddling our child is something to be ashamed of,_ Draco scolded him down the bond.  
  
 _Sure you don’t. Or you would have come here openly and invited me to come at the same time._  
  
Draco scowled a little, and silently massaged his way down the shell. Harry was right, and he didn’t have any answer for that.  
  
But Harry’s smugness fled the bond soon, and then they sat there in the heat and held the egg and each other and Draco tilted his head back and began to sing, softly, ready to cut off the notes if Harry got irritated that Draco was singing them almost right in his ear.  
  
Harry only leaned back, though, and smiled. So Draco kept singing, and he knew—without feeling any stir or movement, simply because he had the knowledge—that their child was listening in some way. And the song stroked the shell along with their hands and the warmth and helped the child to grow in much the same way.  
  
*  
  
“Now.”  
  
Draco was the one who spoke the word. Harry knew why. He was too nervous to say it himself. What if he said it too soon? Or too late? They might take out either a premature child or one who had almost choked to death on the magic.  
  
But Draco had said it, and he was the one with the Veela traits and Veela instincts, so that must be okay. Harry reached out and gripped the shell that had already bulged up a little from the pressure of the power inside it. Then he pulled down at the same moment as Draco, even as Draco muttered sarcastically down the bond,  _Your faith in me is touching._  
  
 _It is,_ Harry said, and took some satisfaction in knowing that the way he said it had shut Draco up.  
  
Then he lost everything but wonder, the rush of it drowning him like the magic had when they first raised it. They both pried at the shell, and it flashed and flaked away from the egg, and then they were both reaching in and they were pulling out—  
  
A shape. Harry hastily rearranged his hands so that he was holding the feet and Draco was cradling the head, and then Draco raised his wings and brought them down hard, once, while singing a note that seemed to resonate in Harry’s bones and head.  
  
The coating that covered the baby, coating like the yolk of an egg dripping with magic, froze and cracked and fell away. The next instant, they were hearing the hysterical wails that Harry remembered from Victoire and Dominique when they were little.  
  
“A girl,” Draco whispered. He sounded a little dazed.  
  
“Who is she?” Harry moved around to the side and bent over her. Her eyes were a cloudy dark blue; he wondered who she would look more like when they settled, but right now it was impossible to tell. Her hair was clinging dark wisps. Harry smiled at her and stroked her head. She was still screaming, but she stopped at his touch and turned an unfocused gaze on him. Then Draco bent over and sang softly to her.  
  
She opened her mouth and made a soft noise back. Harry didn’t know if it was a laugh, but he didn’t think it was a sob. And he didn’t know if it was a normal noise for Veela babies—she would probably be a Veela, like Draco, wouldn’t she?—and he didn’t care, because his soul was burning with love and his eyes were lingering on her skin as if it was the most remarkable color he had ever seen.  
  
“Too small to tell yet if she’ll be a Parselmouth or a Veela, but I’d like to think so,” said Draco, and smiled at Harry. “But she’s healthy. She seems happy.” He hesitated. “Would you like to name her?”  
  
Harry hesitated in turn. They hadn’t really talked about names, other than Harry making it clear that he wasn’t going for any of the wilder Roman names or star names that came from both sides of Draco’s family. He’d done a little reading on his own, but he hadn’t found a name he really liked. He’d half-thought that Draco would do the naming, and half-thought that he would know the right one when he saw the baby.  
  
As it turned out, he did, after a few moments of increasingly awkward staring from both Draco and the baby. Some of his reading had included Roman history, if only so he would know what names to forbid. And he’d found one name he really wouldn’t object to.  
  
“Julia,” he said slowly.  
  
Draco smiled, then. “It’s only fair I get to decide on the middle name if you picked the first one.”  
  
“Yes, that’s fair,” Harry found himself agreeing.   
  
“Good, then.” Draco slid his hand slowly over the baby’s chest, and sang at her again, in a voice half-croon and half ordinary speech. “Julia Maia.”  
  
“It’s a star, isn’t it,” Harry said, resigned.  
  
“One of the Pleiades.” Draco beamed at him. “But also a goddess.”  
  
Harry nodded again. He could live with that.  
  
As he could live with deciding what her last name would be, and what she would look like, and when they were going to introduce her to other people. But for now, he couldn’t live without holding her.   
  
He leaned forwards and took Julia, and Draco wrapped his wings around them both and sang that ringing note again. This time, right into Harry’s ear.  
  
He couldn’t mind. He couldn’t mind anything right now, holding their daughter, with his mate beside him.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
